Incendio
by sebastienne
Summary: Post OotP. Once again, Remus needs emotional aid. A theme of my work? Never.


A present for Lily Pond, from a very bored Lady S. on an Oxford-bound coach journey.

Of course, it goes without saying that I own none of these characters. Just the ideas.

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Remus sat, hand in grey-brown hair, staring into the great fireplace at 12, Grimmauld Place. His home.

He didn't think he would ever come to terms with thinking of it like that – to him it would always be Sirius' house, would always have been . . . no matter how long they had lived there together. And it COULD have been different, in a thousand ways some tiny detail could have changed, and Sirius would now be sitting at the other end of this table. But he wasn't, and all Remus had was the thick, cream-coloured parchment which told him that all of Sirius' possessions ('His heart. His soul,' thought Remus, bitterly) was now his own.

But what to do with it? There seemed little point to the Black fortune now that there was no Sirius to share it with.

Remus took a gold coin from the small cloth bag on the table, and threw it into the empty fireplace. 'Got to pay the boatman' he thought, morbidly. Just then, Ginny came into the room. She approached from behind, and Remus did not see her until she had placed the mug of tea she was carrying on the table by him. He looked up, astounded, and thanked her with real gratitude.

She was wearing a pair of jeans which used to belong to Fred, which fitted her around the hips but were too long so that they scuffed and tore on the ground.  She had somehow purloined Tonks' _Weird Sisters_ t-shirt. Remus had to wonder if she had any clothes of her own – he knew well that the Weasleys would have been as well-off as he now was if they had not given all their money to the Order 18 years ago. Before they realised they would have four more children to support.

A sudden impulse grabbed Remus – perhaps it was her thoughtfulness in bringing him tea, perhaps it was the way that her bright red hair came to rest just where her waist began to curve out to her hips, but he took the money-bag on the table and thrust it into her hands.

She looked at him, confused, shocked even, and moved to put the bag back on the table. But he covered her small had with his own, and looked at her imploringly.

'Go out and buy yourself a new outfit,' he said. His voice was slightly hoarse, Ginny knew he hadn't used it in a while, 'Or at least get some new school robes, you can't wear Ron's forever.' Ginny didn't comment on how shabby Remus' clothes were looking – he seemed to like them that way.

As he looked at her, half with the authority of a teacher, half with the love of a friend, she blushed and – although she did not want to – broke contact with his cold hand and walked away. She looked at him one last time, to make sure he really meant it, then smiled (not a grin of joy but a smile of sadness) and thanked him.

Later that day, Ginny was sitting in Florean Fortescue's ice-cream parlour. Her strawberries-and-cream sundae was hardly touched, except to be stirred up into a melted pink mess. She felt terrible for Remus, who would soon be living at Grimmauld Place alone when the Order finished their move to new headquarters. Kreacher had refused to serve Remus, calling him an abomination and a half-breed. In the end, the house-elf had mysteriously vanished, and the risk that he had found his way to Voldemort with all the secrets he knew was too great a one for the Order to take.

It did seem as if Kreacher had done some sort of cleaning when he was in the house because, after his departure, infestations and dark magics seemed to keep increasing twice as fast as they were eliminated.

Alone, Remus would be fighting a losing battle against Sirius' past.

All of a sudden, Ginny realised what she had to do.

Walking into a wizarding estate agent, she saw what she was looking for almost immediately – a converted muggle flat to let – with a private, solid _lockable_ garage. Somewhere Remus could live all month unmolested. Most importantly, the cost of a month's rent was less than the sum of the gold she was carrying.

She looked in wonder at the three-dimensional model of the property, suspended in a small crystal sphere. These were all over the shop, one for each property – the observer simply navigated his or her way around the property by the power of their thoughts.

Ginny wandered through the lounge, which had gaudy orange and brown paisley-print wallpaper, and into the bedroom. It was painted a light blue colour, like the shell of a duck egg or the sky in winter. The person selling the house had taken care to make the house appealing to potential buyers – a vase of wild flowers was on the sill of the tall, narrow window, in front of which a white voile curtain fluttered in the breeze. The bed itself was neatly made with white linen sheets. This sight caused Ginny's head to fill with ideas of ways to crease them, but she had to check herself. As she pulled herself back to reality, she reminded herself that he was a gay man who had just lost his life partner. Not a suitable candidate for adolescent fantasies. Not to mention the fact that this ball she was looking at was reading her thoughts . . .

She went to the woman behind the desk to ask if she could put a month's rent down on the house, and if she could take the tour-globe away to show someone. The woman looked disapproving, but nevertheless agreed.

Ginny returned to Grimmauld Place by muggle transport. She could not travel by floo powder as Remus had not lit the fire in that fireplace in the last month. He never seemed to notice the cold.

The trains had been terribly delayed, so by the time she got back it was twighlight. The moment she got to the door her mother opened it and, although she could not shout for fear of waking Sirius' mother, (who had become even more vehement when she learnt who her new owner was), but her shouting was implicit without volume.

Ginny accepted it – she was, after all, very late. She did not respond until her mother had finished her tirade, when she said in a soft, meek voice 'How's Remus?'

Molly softened when she saw the obvious concern on Ginny's face and replied, 'the same'. Ginny smiled wanly and walked into the dining room.

She sat down next to Remus in silence. After a long while, he spoke – 'You're all moving back to the burrow tonight, aren't you?'

'Yes,' replied Ginny, 'that's the last of us.'

There was a pause, which endured even longer than the first one. Ginny broke this one by reaching into her bag and pulling out the tour-globe.

'Got you a present,' she said, as she placed it on the table in front of him.

He realised immediately that she had spent all the money he had given her on him, and looked at her both reproachfully and sweetly.

He gave the flat a cursory look – there was nothing special about it, anyway, it was just a place to live.

'Thank you for the thought, Ginny, but I already own a house.'

He looked around him as if he didn't think of Grimmauld Place as much of a home.

Molly poked her head around the door, to say, 'come along now Ginny, it's time to go.'

'I'll meet you later, mum.' Voice like steel.

Even Molly knew that, sometimes, there was no arguing with Ginny Weasley.

'I'll take your luggage, dear.'

And the curly read head disappeared.

Silencio. Remus wore the resigned expression of a man who realises someone is going to help them whether they want them to or not.

'Get you stuff.'

'But Ginny, I…'

'Get your stuff, Remus.'

It was the first time she had used his first name, and as such pointed to a subtle shift in their relationship. It made Remus realise that, in this situation at least, Ginny was an adult.

But how did she know? How could she possibly know what it felt like to lose the only one you ever loved – the only one that ever loved you? What it was like to sit in their house every day, expecting them to come back through the door and feeling abandoned when they don't? To go from poverty to being the sole inheritor of the Black millions – meaningless lumps of gold every one.

But Ginny was so insistent. He couldn't shout at her, tell her to go away – she had done nothing wrong. She was trying to help him.

It took a lot for Remus to overcome his stubbornness, to overcome the habit of a lifetime, and to let someone help him.

But before that hour was up, Remus had taken his battered, brown case – containing everything that had been his before Sirius' will – to his new address.

Back at Grimmauld Place, night had fallen. As Remus returned (he'd had to apparate out in the street as the wards placed on the Headquarters were so strong), he found Ginny sitting looking into the fire.

'Burn it,' she said.

'Burn what?' he said, looking at the empty fireplace.

'Everything.'

A pause, in which Remus faced Ginny with a look of incredulity, slightly parted lips, wrinkled brow, questioning eyes . . . which grew into a look of realisation – open eyes, sardonically smiling lips.

Just then, he caught sight of a gold coin, glinting in the grate. He had thrown in there earlier, he remembered, with some morbid thought or other (they'd all been morbid this past month). With speed and vehemence that surprised even him, Remus pulled out his wand, whirled round and pointed it at the fireplace.

'Incendio!'

Ginny remembered her first charms lesson, when she has learnt that the stronger the desire driving a spell, the stronger the spell.

Remus had pointed his wand at what, to him, was a symbol of Sirius' death . . . and the very stone was burning. His wand arm suddenly went very shaky, and he looked as if he were about to collapse.

Just as Ginny began to move to catch him, however, he seemed to draw strength from some internal reserve and stood straight, with a face as ominous as a storm cloud. Raising his wand above his head, he brought it down twice in quick succession.

'Incendio! Incendio!'

The floor length curtains caught light, and flames licked up towards the ceiling, causing the paint to crack and bubble.

Already, thick magical smoke was pouring from the unnaturally burning stone. It caught in Ginny's throat and made her choke, but Remus seemed impervious.

A tapestry began to burn, and an old painting, but Remus was just getting into his stride. Ginny realised that the room was going to close in around them, they would be trapped in a ring of flame and the ceiling would fall.

She looked at Remus' face, and knew that he was not going to follow any logical argument.

She grabbed hold of his sleeve, and had to pull him from the room.

In the hall, Sirius' mother was screaming.

Remus flicked his wand at her and then she was screaming in pain.

'Now you know . . . how you made you son feel . . . for his whole life!' he shouted.

Ginny finally managed to wrestle him outside, where he collapsed in the street. He was shaking badly, but when Ginny looked at his face he was triumphant.

Remus had finally come to realise that, by holding on to 12 Grimmauld Place, he had not been holding on to Sirius, but to all the things that had made Sirius' life hell.

He might not be able to avenge his love's death, but he could sure as hell avenge his life.

Remus and Ginny sat and watched as the house was utterly destroyed. Even the stone burnt away, with acrid grey-purple smoke.

Ginny showed a surprising capacity for patience as she waited almost two hours for Remus' sobs to subside.

Then he stood up, as if nothing had happened, and walked in the direction of the nearest muggle tube station. This alone, the fact that he did not apparate, showed Ginny that he wanted her to follow him.

As one, as Fawkes, they stood and walked off into the night. 


End file.
